


Human Error

by drurie



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Insecurity, Jealousy, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Unrequited Love, and failing to do so, hank trying to work through his biases
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 07:18:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18960505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drurie/pseuds/drurie
Summary: Hank falls in love and everything falls apart soon after.





	Human Error

 “We’ve procured – hired a new employee to help out with the precinct,” Fowler had remarked simply.

The new android had slipped into Fowler’s glass room as silently as Connor had done on their first meeting at the bullpen. It had appeared completely unbothered by the three pairs of eyes shifting to it. Hank had felt Connor gasp softly, had seen his eyes drop from the other android before eagerly locking back on it. The machine had twitched briefly in response to Connor’s little drop in composure before reassuming its uncannily straight posture.

“Welcome, RK900,” Connor had whispered as he took a step forward to grasp the other android’s larger hand. Hank had caught the surprise on Fowler’s face; Fowler, who was expecting to do the honors of a formal introduction. Connor had stepped out of line in his enthusiasm to meet the RK900. Sharing a look with Fowler, the two men had shrugged at each other. Hank had figured that Connor was just glad to finally have an android work companion.

Looking back, Hank, an aging lieutenant – but a lieutenant who was top of his class once nonetheless – should have figured out by then that any new android addition to his life meant an eventual explosion of anything he held dear.

 

***

 

Hank couldn’t really complain about having the RK900 around at first. Sure, it got a bit cramped around his desk because the RK900 – or Connor, he wasn’t sure – had decided it was okay to share Connor’s desk. It was a little uncomfortable watching the two androids work, their shoulders pressed against each other due to the lack of space and their similar faces shrouded in the same blank expression as they downloaded data. He eventually learned to just _not look_. Reed wouldn’t give it a rest of course, always coming up with some lame permutation of a “ _wow, Anderson, looks like you’ve upgraded from a puppy-eyed Windows 95 to the future with this husky bad boy_ ” remark but no one would take the bait and he’d just slink off sulkily to his miserable existence at the other end of the bullpen. Reed could rot in that corner and he wouldn’t give a single fuck, Hank snorted to himself. Fucker was probably just jealous Hank had _two_ coffee-retrieving androids now.

 

***

 

Traveling around felt a little different but that was to be expected, Hank figured. Before RK900, it was always just him and Connor, Connor and him in the front seat. The radio on, Hank tapping along to it on his steering wheel as Connor occasionally broke out into inhumanly pitch-perfect singing. Sometimes he would catch Connor doing a little jig along with the rhythm in his seat. The android would have a faint streak of a blush across his cheeks when he realized that Hank had seen, and Hank would just smile quietly in return as he felt Connor bury himself even further into his heart. With the RK900 now though, Connor would sit silently at the front, his hands placed firmly on his lap. The RK900 would emulate Connor’s posture from the backseat, but with a back even more ramrod straight than Hank had ever seen on Connor.

Hank had sighed internally but he held out a little hope that things would return to normal (whatever that was) in a few weeks. Maybe everyone was still kind of unfamiliar with each other and an ice-breaking session was in order. Hank never pegged himself for the social type, but he missed his lively Connor – and it also slightly unsettled him that the RK900 hadn’t actually said a word to him _or_ Connor for a full week since Fowler brought him in.

 

***

 

 “Come by my house this Saturday night? Let’s, uh, do lunch – I mean, dinner – or something,” Hank finally offered one Thursday lunch. The three of them were standing around a dirty table just outside of Chicken Feed, Connor sipping on a thirium beverage and the RK900 looking like it would rather be anywhere but there. Connor appraised him with a bright smile at his suggestion, making Hank nervously fidget with the remnants of his lunch.

“That sounds great, Hank! I haven’t seen Sumo in a while,” Connor dreamily sighed, placing his drink down on the table. Hank grinned back – this was how he remembered lunches to be with Connor, easy-going and without an uptight computer processor beadily watching his every move.

“I’ll pick ya up at your place, Con? I’ll send you back later too, if you want,” Hank asked.

Connor beamed at him. Hank almost wished that he would stop doing that. It wasn’t that he didn’t like it, but the way the RK900 observed _him_ whenever Connor displayed affection or joy towards Hank – it was almost like the machine was reading all his thoughts and judging him for them. 

“You’re invited too, uh, 900,” Hank mumbled with his eyes on his hands, slightly flustered and annoyed.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Those were the first three words it had even spoken to Hank. Its voice was lower, fuller, and flatter than even pre-deviant Connor’s even though the mouth through which its sound was projected from was shaped exactly the same. It was _extremely_ uncanny. Hank was a man who prided himself on nerve though, so he wasn’t about to show the RK900 that just its voice was able to throw him off his bearings.

Connor looked like he was watching a fascinating game of tennis.

“Do you – would you like me to pick you up too?” Hank queried, hoping to God that the answer would be a flat no.

“That would be unnecessary, Lieutenant. I live in a closet space in the basement of the police department and will be able to brisk walk over to your house in less than fifteen minutes.”

Connor tilted his head, eying the RK900 with an unreadable expression.

If Hank hadn’t been so relieved at being freed from a stiflingly silent car ride on Saturday night, he would probably had laughed at the mental imagery of the RK900 _coming out of the closet_ to visit him and Connor. Well, and he also felt a modicum of guilt thinking of something the size of RK900 being forced into a cramped space for stasis. But he figured that the RK900 would be able to get a proper place once it got a few months of salary under its belt.

And so, he let it go, whistling on his way back to his car, feeling lighter than he had felt in weeks.

 

***

 

Saturday afternoon was _fucking_ hell. Hank was fervently trying to scrub his shithole of a place down, hiding his dirty laundry, drawing the curtains and attempting to place the android-consumption-friendly groceries in a presentable fashion on the kitchen counter. He’d done some last-minute reading on Friday night about nice dinners to cook and share with your android. He knew he’d probably still blow up his whole kitchen trying though, so he had printed out a small book’s worth of downloaded recipes to show Connor (who he hoped would be his friendly kitchen assistant).

At late afternoon, he finally got his house into a decent livable state and shooed Sumo off his now very clean couch. He’d placed a few thirium-blue roses in a clear vase in the middle of the dining table, hoping that Connor would maybe ask about them later so he could offer to let Connor take them home. Wincing at himself, Hank pulled his last clean towel from his cupboard and went off to take a shower.

He later picked out the shirt Connor had selected him for their investigation at the Eden Club and hauled an untattered jacket over his shoulders. Lobbing his hair into a messy ponytail, Hank gave himself one last unimpressed look in the mirror before striding out to his car, feeling the way he felt when he was picking up a girl he knew wouldn’t stay the night for his high school prom.

 

***

 

Of course, Connor was already down from his apartment by the time Hank pulled over, shining that megawatt smile at him as he stood without a care in the snow. He was in surprisingly casual clothing.

“Lieutenant, I have been greatly anticipating tonight’s dinner,” Connor practically bounced into the front seat next to him, his sweater-covered arms crammed full of what looked like quality dog treats, “Thank you so much for offering to drive me.”

“’s nothing, kid,” Hank patted Connor’s knee tentatively as he revved out of the parking lot. Connor didn’t even flinch. Hank felt his insides warm.

Connor initiated turning on the radio, his fingers flicking over the station knob till it landed on Hank’s favorite metal station. Hank’s fingers thrummed on the steering wheel to the familiar beat as Connor clapped happily along. The car sped through the snow and Hank wondered distantly if it would ever be possible to leave the RK900 behind Connor and him like the streetlights that whizzed past them.

 

***

 

Hank was pretty relieved to see that the RK900 hadn’t arrived by the time he and Connor got back to his house. Turning on the lights, he saw Connor and Sumo bound towards each other gleefully, the android running his hands greedily over his dog’s enormous amount of fur.

“Who’s been a good boy, who’s been a good boy!” Connor chortled, pulling a treat out from his back pocket. If Connor were human, Hank would have been alarmed at how Sumo’s jaw almost took out his hand in his excitement. Connor turned around from his spot on the floor to glance up at Hank, smiling shyly.

“Sorry, Lieutenant, I got ahead of myself,” he brushed stray fur and snow off his sweater as he stood up. Hank felt the corners of his mouth twitch. Caving in to himself, Hank reached out and tugged Connor over in a tight embrace.

“Like I said, it’s nothing,” Hank patted his back firmly, basking in the synthetic warmth of Connor’s body, “You could start by helping me out with preparing dinner, though.”

“Whatever you say, Lieutenant,” Connor smiled, pulling back.

“I’ve told ya before, it’s Hank outside of work, you forgetful bot,” he teased, loosening his grip.

“Yes, Hank.”

Hank flipped his makeshift recipe book to a page of queasily healthy dishes.

“I was thinking of making this tonight,” he said, his fingers fiddling the side of the page.

“You sure, Hank?”

“Anything to make you happy, Connor,” Hank half-admitted, busying himself with cutting the vegetables. Connor shifted to be nearer to him, his right hand brushing over Hank’s left as he reached for the meat. He diced it with the precision of a factory cutter.

They worked in quiet for a while before Hank went over to turn on the radio on the dining table to relax the atmosphere. A tinny tune emitted from the old thing, and he watched appraisingly as Connor unconsciously bobbed himself along with the music. He was a little disappointed Connor hadn’t noticed the flowers, but he supposed it could wait.

“So, uh, Connor – “

“Yes, Hank?”

“About RK900…” Hank trailed off, starting to regret bringing up the other android. From the corner of his eye, he could see that it was almost 6.30pm. He began to hope that the RK900 wouldn’t show up.

“Is it – is it like you, I mean, is he deviant?” Hank finished lamely.

Tilting his head, Connor looked up at Hank warmly. Hank couldn’t get the image of a soft brown puppy out of his mind.

“Yes, he is a deviant. He’s learning, but he is.”

Hank wouldn’t have been able to guess it from the way the RK900 had been holding itself at work. It was ruthlessly efficient with little to no behavioral tics. It showed almost no downtime at work and seemed almost incapable of expressing anything except a mild form of judgmental bemusement (towards Hank, at least – maybe he was different with _Connor_ ).

“That’s a surprise,” Hank breathed out, “Does it – does he have a name?”

He needed to stop calling that thing an _it_ before Connor got annoyed with him, he thought nervously.

“Yes, of course,” Connor sighed, almost wistfully, “His name is Conrad.” Hank wasn’t sure if it was his kitchen lights or if that was a tinge of color over Connor’s pale freckled cheeks.

Hank gripped the knife in his hand a little more tightly.

“How come I didn’t know this? I called him _900_ the other day, Jesus,” he complained, before realizing that _Connor had known his name all along and never offered that knowledge to him_. He stiffened, his heart ramming painfully against his ribcage.

“Hank?” Connor seemed to have noticed that something was amiss. His brown eyes were trained on Hank’s face as he gathered the ingredients into a large bowl.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Hank hoped desperately that the hurt wasn’t seeping into his voice, “And how did you know in the first place? I’ve never seen you two do so much as converse to each other.”

In front of him, anyway, he thought dully.

“Oh,” Connor’s face fell, “I – uh – I must have been mistaken in my understanding of social relations, Hank. I thought that you two would eventually do a verbal introduction to each other and learn each other’s names that way. I was waiting for that to happen but I guess since it didn’t, I should have stepped in… “

 _Right_ , Hank slapped himself mentally, he never even bothered to ask for the RK900’s name. _Way to overreact, Anderson._

“And,” Connor pressed on, and Hank could see now that the color was originating from Connor’s skin and not his old kitchen lights, “I knew his name because we…interface over the communication system, I guess what you would call: _that weird android telepathy shit_.”

Hank didn’t know whether to laugh at Connor’s attempt at imitating his voice or to feed the growing insecurity growing in his gut. So – the pair had been chatting the whole time, probably the whole day right in front of him without knowing. They were probably well-acquainted by now, androids didn’t sleep – they might have been chatting non-stop for days. The only one that needed any ice-breaking here was him.

“Hank?”

He knew he looked like a mess. An unattractive middle-aged fuck-up. He was trying to school his features into neutrality but he couldn’t stop beating himself up over thinking that Connor had ever been in his reach.

Connor held him by his forearm in the way he would do whenever he was attempting to interface with another android. Hank felt a little more grounded.

“You’ll always be my best friend, Hank,” Connor said earnestly, “And I will never forget what you have done for me.”

Hank laughed. It was bitter, and he thought about how well he would fit into one of those bad friendzone memes that had been all the rage a couple decades ago. Connor seemed to sense his negativity and gripped his forearm even tighter.

“I am serious, Hank,” he said solemnly, “Nothing will break our friendship.”

He couldn’t have been more off the mark, but Hank would take what he could. For now.

“Alright, you,” Hank smiled ruefully, “Let’s get cracking on dinner proper now.”

Three rapt knocks on the door sounded.

 

***

 

The RK900 – Conrad – carefully stepped into the house. It was about the same height as him, Hank realized, but the way it carried itself, the way it was sculpted, made it seem almost too large for the doorframe. Also, Conrad was still in that stupidly blinding white Cyberlife patented jacket. Hank blinked his eyes several times, before scowling slightly and shutting the door behind the machine.

“Glad you could make it,” Hank said gruffly, “Please, call me Hank when we’re out of work. And you are…”

“Conrad,” its mouth moved smoothly, and if it thought that it was odd that Hank had only allowed it to introduce itself now, its face betrayed no sign of it.

“Great, Conrad, we’re just wrapping up preparations here, you can go sit on the couch or something, just make yourself comfortable,” Hank mumbled, moving quickly back next to Connor.

“Hi, Conrad!” Connor called out, wearing that silly lopsided smile that Hank had thought was only for him.

“Connor,” Conrad breathed as it mechanically waved back. Hank thought he heard the tiniest bit of inflection on its voice for once. He bit his lip and turned back to the stove.

 

***

 

“This is very nice, Hank,” Conrad said as it tapped his mouth with a tissue, sounding as serious as it did when it examined dead bodies.

“Oh, plenty of help from Connor here,” Hank replied, deciding to reach out to pat Connor on his back. He held his gaze with Conrad. Conrad merely blinked once in response to that gesture, its face still completely impassive. Hank was feeling more and more like a dick by the second.

“So, you’ve been online for only about as long as you’ve been on the job? That’s not a long time to be deviant,” Hank asked. If Connor and Conrad were already acquainted (and he’d like to think of himself as the Connor expert) he might as well try to get to know Conrad better. Know what exactly he’s dealing with.

Conrad’s eyes shifted onto him. Hank felt like he was being observed under a microscope again. The blue of those eyes was made to be anything but friendly. Where he first thought Connor and Conrad basically shared the same face, he was now aware that they had very little in common. Conrad did not have a kind face; its nose looked a little sharper and its eyes narrower. Its brows tilted down slightly by design, and its cheekbones more prominent where there was roundness on Connor’s gentle face.

“I’ve actually been online for almost as long as Connor has,” it said simply. Connor did that fidgeting motion next to him again. Hank clenched and unclenched a fist underneath the table unknowingly, feeling a strain coming over his body.

“Y-you, what?” he stumbled ungracefully. Conrad raised an eyebrow.

“Cyberlife knew that Connor had deviant tendencies when they released him. They made him so, they wanted to see if it would actually help his mission,” Conrad said, and now its eyes had moved to stare at Connor, “His entire performance was logged and I was setup to review and learn from his decisions. If deviant tendencies were a desirable trait in such an android. If I could do anything better.”

_Faster, stronger, more resilient…_

“So, this is what Cyberlife thinks is an improvement on Connor here,” Hank remarked directly, waving his hand over Conrad. It would’ve been rude in any other context, but with Conrad’s seeming lack of social abilities, Hank didn’t feel too shitty about it.

“Well, he did have a few accidents,” Hank thought he saw those eyes soften, “And though his mannerisms gained him some cooperation from humans, he didn’t exactly have their full… _respect_.”

Hank thought glumly to the times he had yelled at Connor.

“They wanted a product with more force, more authority,” Conrad continued, “Less need for social relations. And as you can see, I am struggling somewhat in this aspect as I learn to embrace the deviancy that Markus managed to bestow upon my code when he released me.”

Conrad’s LED suddenly whirred a bright yellow before switching back to blue.

“Thank you, Connor.”

Hank watched as Conrad reached across the table to cover Connor’s hand with its hand. Then he managed to fathom, rather belatedly, that Connor and Conrad had been doing that _weird android telepathy shit_ right in front of him.

 “Alright, boys, none of that telepathic shit when I’m in front of you, it’s rude,” Hank grunted, crossing his arms and hating himself for sounding like a dad. That was completely _not_ the impression he wanted to leave on Connor.

“Sorry, Hank!” Connor squeaked, but his hand remained under Conrad’s. Conrad acquiesced with a nod of its head. It didn’t really quell Hank’s annoyance. And then –

“Oh, Hank, these are really lovely flowers,” Connor said, his eyes clearly scanning them for information, “The color is beautiful.”

Connor pulled his hand out from under Conrad’s to lightly feel the petals.

His burgeoning foul mood dissipated.

“Yeah, Connor, you can take them home with you if you want,” Hank said. He carefully pressed the vase into Connor’s surprised hands.

When Connor smiled at him that way, he could almost forget that he had to literally share the android’s headspace with Conrad now.

 

***

 

After knowing that Conrad and Connor could do that _weird telepathic shit_ , Hank found it even harder to concentrate at work. He had been reprimanded by Fowler just three times in two days the week following the dinner, and he didn’t think his absent-minded conduct was going to be improving anytime soon.

He tried to maintain his refusal to look too hard when the two of them sat side-by-side to work at their desk but he found it harder as the days went by. Curiosity _burned_ within him. What did they talk about? Did they ever talk about him? Was Connor able to smile telepathically? Was Conrad basically a virtual Reed in Connor’s mind? He’d really like to think that Conrad was a dick, it had a face that suggested it could have the makings of one.

_Did Connor enjoy Conrad’s company?_

_Pathetic, Anderson_ , he spat in his mind. He really needed to be using his detective skills on his job instead of his stupid little crush. He hung his head lower, hoping that neither of them would start looking at _him_ instead and doing their emotion analysis thing.

“I’m gonna – I gotta go out for a bit of fresh air. Case is tough,” he sighed, giving up after a while.

Connor immediately looked up from his desk in concern. Conrad eyed Connor for a while, before looking back to its work as if nothing had happened.

“Lieutenant, is everything alright? Can I help in any way?”

Hank wanted nothing more but for Connor to automatically get up and follow him outside as he used to always loyally do. But maybe some time alone from the source of his obsessive thoughts would be good.

“’s alright, Con. Don’t worry your pretty head about me, just gonna go out and get a quick bite,” he tried to say assuredly. A pout flashed across Connor’s face but he did not pursue the matter. Hank got up and pulled his coat over himself, before walking around to Connor’s desk and patting him a goodbye on his shoulder.

“Please take care, Hank,” Connor said.

Hank saw some of the thirium-blue flowers that he had given Connor placed neatly on Connor’s end of the desk in a purple vase. He grinned back in response, feeling somewhat lighter.

“Hey tincan, aren’t you going to follow your owner like a good poodle and make sure he doesn’t get drunk at a bar somewhere?” Reed called out from his corner of the room. He was even further behind on cases than Hank and was obviously just trying to procrastinate. Glancing down at Connor, he laughed as he saw the android scrunch his young face up in disapproval and roll his eyes.

“I’ll see you in a bit,” Hank said, unwillingly letting go of Connor’s shoulder.

Hank was barely around the corner when he saw Conrad get up and move towards one of the further break rooms. It’d never done that before – Conrad never took breaks of any sort. Pausing, Hank watched quizzically as Conrad entered the room and shut the door behind it.

He turned back to look at Connor, who was now fidgeting with his favorite quarter under the desk. The android had that little tinge of color across his cheeks again, and Hank knew from the look in his eyes that he was scanning to make sure that Reed was actually back to trying to clear his work instead of looking for an opportunity to harass him again.

Connor, probably satisfied that Reed was now fully absorbed with cussing under his breath at some pieces of yellowed paper, eventually got up from his desk three minutes later. His heart fell as he saw Connor quickly stride over to the break room which Conrad was occupying.

 _Don’t overreact, Anderson, co-workers take breaks all the time, you hang out with Chen every other day in the break rooms as well_.

That thought couldn’t fully ease him still. Staring at his scuffed shoes, Hank took a deep breath, torn between going out to clear his head and to check on Connor. The decision came fast and it was no surprise to himself since Hank was complete shit at self-preservation and making choices that could help preserve his sanity.

He rounded about and made a beeline for the break room.

 

***

 

In his haste to get into the break room, Connor seemed to forget to close the door securely. Pressing himself against the wall next to the slightly ajar old door, Hank peeked through the available sliver anxiously. God, he hoped like mad that none of his colleagues would come by to see him spying on two droids probably just taking a thirium cooler break like an old pervert.

Connor and Conrad were standing a respectable distance apart. Conrad was positioned calmly next to the sink, the sunlight from the window shining against its handsome face, its lips turned up in a very slight smile. Connor though looked unusually restless, seeming to prefer standing in the darker corner of the room. He was playing with the sleeve of his jacket.

Concern grew in Hank. _Was Conrad bullying Connor at work?_

 He watched suspiciously as Conrad slowly edged itself towards Connor.

“So, the Lieutenant thinks you’re pretty?” Conrad asked. Hank felt his hands grow cold. He fucking _knew_ that machine had been analyzing him all this time, probably had him _all figured out_ by now and maybe had been feeding Connor tales about the dirty old man that he was to drive a wedge between him and his partner –

“It is merely a figure of speech, Conrad,” Connor blushed even more heavily. Hank wondered if the blush was from Conrad’s encroaching of his personal space or Connor’s appreciation of Hank’s compliment. He hoped it was the latter.

Lifting a hand cautiously towards Connor’s face, Conrad tilted the shorter android’s chin up so they were looking at each other.

“I think you’re pretty too, Connor,” it said. The words were delivered mostly deadpan, but it still struck Hank with a dull panic. Nausea rose up his throat. If Conrad was interested in Connor too, what chance did a slob like Hank have? The machine was _built_ to be better than even Connor.

Connor bit his lip and dropped his gaze, eyelids fluttering in an unnecessary imitation of human embarrassment. Shoving Conrad’s hand off his face, he mumbled, “We were built this way. You are pretty too, Conrad, just like how Markus and Simon and North and every other android are – it, it doesn’t mean anything. Our appearances don’t mean anything.”

“I think you know I didn’t mean just that,” Conrad lowered its voice. It was now almost pressing Connor against the wall, its eyes shining with an intent Hank had never seen before. He wasn’t sure what Conrad was up to, he couldn’t read stress levels like an android, but if Connor showed any signs of freaking out now, he was going to go in and pummel that machine’s face, Fowler be damned.

“Show me,” Conrad said, and it sounded almost like a plea. The skin projection was falling away from its right hand. Connor was eying it with another unreadable expression.

“I – I don’t know, right here? I mean, I don’t, Conrad – “Connor whimpered, but he did not draw away from Conrad. His hands were now rubbing the back of his neck in another imitation of nervous human behavior.

“Connor,” Conrad began slowly, sounding as if it was trying not to scare away a small animal, “I have become somewhat aware of some interesting thoughts that you have been having. And I would only like to confirm that they are not dissimilar to some of my own.”

“Conrad!” Connor said, his voice hushed. He was looking up at Conrad again, his lips slightly parted. His arms had fallen to his side.

There was a niggling sensation on the back of Hank’s mind that told him he probably should leave now. That he knew what this was segueing into.

But he could not bring himself to.

“Just a little,” Conrad said. It ran its unskinned hand tenderly down Connor’s left arm, before stopping to hold his hand, “Just a little, Connor, please.”

The projection of skin disappeared from Connor’s left hand. Conrad made a small pleased sound and Connor was staring at it as if Conrad had just given him all the stars in the universe. Their white metallic hands pulsed and they lifted them up in tandem, palms pressed firmly against each other. Connor gasped, his eyelids flickering shut.

Hank’s mind fled to the media images he had seen of Markus and North interfacing. Interfacing, interfacing with the exact same posture and look as the two androids in front of him right now.

He knew what this was. He knew the significance of this interface.

He turned around and ran to the bathroom to throw up last night’s dinner just as the two androids unlinked themselves.

 

***

 

Apparently, expelling his dinner was enough for him to look sickly enough for Fowler to send home.

“Jesus, Hank, go back home and get a grip on yourself. We’ll see you tomorrow,” Fowler had grumbled.

And now Hank was sitting back alone in his dark house, watching Sumo moodily. He hadn’t told Connor that he was taking the rest of the day off, and he took a little satisfaction in seeing his phone buzz with multiple concerned messages from Connor.

He could go play another game of Russian roulette with himself, he supposed. Too bad he wouldn’t be able to upload his memory onto some fucking Cyberlife cloud drive in Siberia somewhere and download it into a new body to see Connor come around back to him.

_> [10 unread messages]_

_> Lieutenant, are you alright?_

_> Hank, I am so sorry that I couldn’t be there. Where are you? Please let me know if you need back-up._

_> Are you at home, Hank? I couldn’t stop myself and I went to bother Captain Fowler about you. He said you weren’t feeling well._

_> Hank, please reply me when you can._

_> I’ll come over tonight and make you dinner, Hank. Open the door so I don’t break your window again._

Maybe not tonight then, Hank thought as he drank in the last message. But he wasn’t in the state to see Connor tonight as well. Better let that boy know before he decided to fly through his window again.

> _Hey, Con, I’m alright. Just wasn’t feeling too good. Don’t worry about dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow._

He was pleased with the almost immediate reply.

_> If you say so, Hank. Just call me if you need anything. Take care. Do NOT drink._

Hank grimaced as he flipped his phone over. He _was_ itching for some alcohol, preferably the kind that send him to a full black-out after a couple bottles. At the same time, he _knew_ Connor would know the next day and he didn’t want to look like even more of a disappointment after what conspired in the break room today.

Rolling his eyes at himself, Hank made himself a decently healthy turkey sandwich. He turned on his grimy old TV and switched the channel to anything but androids. The white light from the TV bathed the unkempt living room, and he heard Sumo whine and thump himself somewhere further into the kitchen. The only available programming that featured zero androids was some stupid soap opera which he watched rather gormlessly while finishing his meal. He choked when a young man appeared on the screen with brown hair in a shade distractingly like Connor’s.

 _Fuck it,_ he thought. He was going to at least try to get Connor’s attention back instead of moping around like a shit-stain. Conrad didn’t achieve anything by sitting around like a self-deprecating idiot.

 

***

 

Before he headed back to work the next day, Hank had attempted a beard trim and actually combing his hair before tying it up in a ponytail. He wore his least garish shirt and chucked some of the old post-its off from his mirror and into the bin. He took out the trash on time and even managed to clear out some of Sumo’s fur off the floor before walking out to his car.

“Got a date finally, Anderson?” Reed sneered at he walked into the office. Hank was pretty proud of himself for not even sparing that sucker a glance.

Connor was already at his desk, sitting alone without Conrad. Hank took it as a sign that this would be a good day.

“Lieutenant!” Connor called happily, “You look so much better.”

“Hey, Con,” Hank clapped a hand freely on the android, “Thanks for the concern.”

“You look nice today, Hank,” Connor said sincerely. Hank’s heart did a double flip.

“Y-yeah,” Hank replied, trying to stop himself from rubbing the back of his neck, “’s good to take care of myself, right?”

Connor hummed in appreciation and Hank was internally applauding himself for making the effort today.

“Conrad’s back in Cyberlife for regular maintenance, so it’ll just be you and I today,” Connor said, “There’s a case downtown, we can go when you’re ready, Lieutenant.”

Today had the potential to be a _really_ good day.

 

***

 

Connor was back to doing those little bops of his in the car as Hank drove along the highway. Hank was pleased but also curious.

“Um, Connor?” Hank said carefully after a while, “Why don’t you do this when Conrad’s around?”

Connor ran a hand through his hair unnecessarily.

“Oh – Conrad,” Connor was back to fiddling with his hands, “We are usually sharing information during the rides so I thought it would be rude to be dancing in the front seat while talking about the latest victim.”

“You could just, y’know, talk with your mouths. I’m here too, I can be part of the discussion.”

“Conrad wasn’t sure – I mean, I told him we could but he was worried about affecting your attention capacity for the road since this is a manually driven car.”

Sounded reasonable enough, Hank figured – but he still had every right to be pissed off with that new rookie basically giving Connor an android snog in the breakroom during working hours.

“Is Conrad a nice…person, Connor?” Hank whistled lowly. He took his eyes off the road for a moment to examine Connor’s response.

Connor tilted his face so that his LED was completely unreadable by Hank and un-reflected by the car mirrors.

“Yes, Lieutenant. I enjoy working with him very much.”

 

***

 

The case seemed pretty open-and-close, Hank thought as he walked into the house. Human on human murder, jealous spurned lover kills the object of their affection out of spite.

He watched as Connor got down on the dust-filled floor, his nice dress pants getting mucked by everything disgusting on the floor but not giving a single fuck about it. Connor was on all fours as he leant over to the murder weapon – a rather large knife – and ran his index and middle fingers over its bloodied tip.

Hank was going to fucking retch again – how this pretty, prim man turned off any fucks about hygiene and normalcy whenever they were in a crime scene was just _beyond_ him –

Connor slipped his now-bloodied fingers into his mouth, his pink tongue darting out to consume the blood in the way Hank saw children lick their ice-creams at the fairground.

“Oh, jeez, Connor, what the fuck – “he complained loudly before he could even stop himself.

He realized that he had fucked up immediately when he saw Connor sharply turn his head up to watch him with a piercing gaze.

“Time of death: last night, 10.54pm. Blood on knife belongs to victim, traces of perpetrator’s blood from victim’s self-defense maneuvers identified. Perpetrator identified. Information sent to the DPD, case likely to be closed successfully in the next twenty-four hours,” Connor said mechanically, eyes unblinking as he reported his findings. His hand was still near his mouth. The remaining rivulets of blood were trickling down his fingertips, and Hank could see the traces of the tested blood on Connor’s tongue as he spoke.

He tore his eyes away.

He heard Connor rustle through the pocket of his jacket for a handkerchief to wipe his hands with.

“I would have thought the past one hundred and sixty-two warnings would have been enough for you to stomach the shock, Lieutenant.”

Hank squeezed his eyes shut, berating himself.

“Yeah, yeah, they are – I just thought, I mean, we have a forensics lab, we could always just collect the sample and let them do it instead of getting you dirty – “

“This is far more efficient and getting dirty is merely an aesthetic discomfort that I can remove quickly after my analysis.”

“Yeah, you’re right, Con,” Hank admitted, shoving his hands into his coat pockets, “I – I overreacted, alright? Let’s go get something to eat.”

Connor still hadn’t blinked from the time he reported his findings, Hank realized. He wordlessly followed Hank out back into the car.

Hank just couldn’t fucking _understand_. He was merely being concerned for Connor’s comfort and the man just seemed to disregard it _all the time_. And for him to look offended when Hank tried to alleviate him from unnecessary tasks –

He groaned into his steering wheel, remembered Connor was still in the car with him, and drove them to a better meal location than Chicken Feed.

 

***

 

“I am so fucking sorry, Connor,” Hank had all but bawled at lunch, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to keep the tears in. They were seated in a quaint café, in a booth separate from most of the other customers.

“I am such a fuck-up,” he whined piteously.

Connor had held out a tissue tentatively, pressing it tenderly against Hank’s rough hand.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Hank. I understand, I completely understand.”

 

***

 

That night, his eyes red and bloodshot from crying like a sober teenage girl, Hank decided to try again.

> _Hey, Con. Let’s go out for dinner tomorrow. Just the two of us._

He shakily typed out the message and placed his phone on the coffee table, trying to absorb himself on the documentary about houseflies on the television. Sumo was eating the last of the treats Connor had bought next to him.

The phone buzzed less than a minute later.

> _Sure, thank you, Hank. That would be very lovely._

***

Hank had picked a more uptown establishment for his dinner with Connor, so he woke up the next morning to find himself dressing in one of his formal attires. He tied his hair up again. A worn, tired face stared back at him in the fluorescent lit bathroom mirror. His eyebags were a little worse after yesterday’s crying session, and he was pretty sure his frown crease had gotten worse even since Conrad had joined the team.

He wished desperately Connor and him could’ve met when he was twenty-five and ready for life. Excited for the future, clean-cut, bright – basically, more like Connor, and not a fat old sack of shit.

He tried to walk in with confidence into the office anyway, pleased that Reed appeared to have taken the day off today. His stomach churned when he saw that Conrad was next to Connor again, and seemed to have done some clothes shopping the day before. Instead of that tardy Cyberlife jacket, Conrad was now in a snug black turtleneck long-sleeve, with form-fitting grey pants and a jacket that looked suspiciously the same color as Connor’s own.

“Hey,” Hank grunted, hoping he was still sounding like himself.

“Lieutenant,” Conrad politely nodded.

“Hi, Hank!” Connor smiled as if yesterday never happened at all. Which was impossible, Hank knew, androids didn’t just _forget_.

Connor was in a very presentable white dress shirt which was rolled up to his elbows and slim black cloth pants. There was a small bright blue circular brooch pinned to his shirt’s collar. A little curious, but Connor made it look like it wasn’t out of place at all.

Conrad did a little quirk of its lips as its eyes quickly darted between Connor and Hank.

“An occasion, today?”

Connor simply beamed at it before returning to his work. Hank racked his brain for a smart-ass reply before deciding against it. It could just be an innocent question from a socially inept droid. Maybe he’s been misreading the whole situation anyway between Conrad and Connor, and the former wasn’t actually making any serious moves on the latter. He knew how messy things got when coworkers ended up actually _seriously_ going out, the inadvertent touches and grins and blushes. There was just nothing to suggest that between the two stony-faced coworkers in front of him now.

Still, Hank had to forcefully restrain himself from attempting to shoulder-check Conrad when offering his hand to Connor to leave for dinner at the end of the day.

 

***

 

“Hank, this place is – _wow_ ,” Connor breathed, almost tripping over the carpet on the way in to the restaurant as he swiveled around to scan the place.

“I must confess something before we proceed further,” he grasped Hank by the forearm again, whispering almost conspiratorially, “I am afraid that I do not have the necessary funds to pay for my end of the dinner here. Perhaps we could go somewhere else.”

Hank blinked at him owlishly before remembering he had completely neglected to tell him that this was a treat from him. Connor stared back at him with a perfect imitation of human worry etched across his face.

“Oh,” Hank said, nervously nodding a _go ahead_ to the confused waiter waiting for them, “This – I forgot to mention, I’m paying. It’s a treat. From me.”

“Oh!”

Connor’s eyes widened in surprise.

“For me? A treat? But Hank, this will be a very steep portion of your monthly salary. Please, this is unnecessary,” Connor said, concerned, even as Hank continued walking him to their booth.

“Don’t worry so much, kid,” Hank pressed Connor down to his seat, “Just get what you like, alright? It’s not like I’m out splurging every night on a meal anyway, I’ve got this covered.”

Connor continued staring at him for a while as if Hank had grown another head before dipping his head into the menu.

Hank felt his palms start to sweat a little in worry. He wasn’t as sure now that this was a good idea, or if Connor was particularly receptive to being wined and dined. The old RK800 manual back at work was of course of zero help in this aspect. To his relief however, Connor ordered an actual meal and didn’t skimp out on just getting some cheap thirium beverage. Hank wasn’t sure what he himself ordered – he just prodded the name of some dish that looked like it wasn’t fried.

“I must ask, Hank, of the occasion to which you are treating me to?” Connor asked, with an inquisitive look in the eye.

Sighing, Hank replied, “Just – just to make it up to you for how rude I was that day. I really…”

He gulped.

“I really like you, Connor.”

 _Way to pussy out_.

He thought he saw a brief look of conflict cross Connor’s face.

“I – um,” Connor stammered, and it was _never_ a good sign when Connor stammered.

“Is this a date, Hank?”

 _Fuck_.

Hank could feel his cheeks heating up. What was he possibly to say? He was just some lonely obese middle-aged drunk who had his eyes on some pretty boy android who was so weirdly charming he could probably make Hank’s breakfast toaster fall in love with him. He suddenly realized he didn’t really know why he was here – this was just the perfect setup for humiliation.

“I mean, it is not exactly Valentine’s – that’s three days away, but the probability that – “

And as usual, when pushed to a corner, Hank’s response was to defensively half-ass it.

“It’s whatever you want it to be, Connor.”

The familiar phrasing probably wasn’t lost on Connor, and likewise for Hank’s non-answer. He saw Connor’s LED spin yellow for a second before it settled back calmly on blue.

“Well, Hank, I appreciate this treat very much,” Connor smiled his non-answer back.

Hank grimaced and was glad that the food arrived just in time to give him a chance to break the conversation down to another path.

“So, uh – how’s things been so far outta work? Your apartment decorations coming in nicely?” Hank said, willing himself to look up from his odd-looking chicken to Connor.

“Oh,” Connor made a face. His eyes never left Hank even as his hands worked the knife and fork perfectly to filet his fish-shaped thirium-based food.

“Actually, I have been running into some problems,” he sighed.

Hank’s heart leapt. He could help Connor. He was complete shit at emotions but if there was anything he was good at it was solving problems.

“Yeah? What’s up?” Hank asked, trying to sound casual.

“My landlord is trying to up my rent,” Connor slumped slightly, “Specifically, to twice the current amount. I just cannot afford it with the current salary the DPD is paying me, and it is so difficult to find another apartment that’s willing to take on a solo android tenant.”

Hank bristled. He’d go over right now and rough the landlord up and give him a piece of his mind, if he didn’t already know that Connor would be abject to that idea.

“What right does he even have? And what are his reasons?” Hank scowled darkly.

Connor smiled a little wearily, “Android rights still aren’t completely ironed out yet, so I guess I am an easy target. He just said something about my docking station taking up a lot of electricity. I know exactly how much electricity it takes so I am certain that’s just an excuse – but I understand that that can’t change my current situation.”

“And you’ve preconstructed every possible scenario and the best outcome still leads to you staying in that place, paying that ridiculous rent?”

Connor cocked his head at him, his LED spinning again.

“Well,” he began hesitantly, “There were a few more favorable outcomes. However, they were significantly lower in their probabilities for success. I thought that I might give it a bit more time, then recalculate my possible moves.”

Connor lowered his head in thought, his eyelashes fluttering against his pretty freckled skin. Hank’s face felt warm again just looking at him like that.

“Sorry – in that case, my sharing of the information with you was unnecessary. I suppose this is what humans would term a _whine_ , or a _bitching session_ ,” he smiled wanly.

Hank cracked a smile at that. He was still thinking about what Connor said about the other favorable outcomes. Now, he didn’t know if that was a hint _to him_ , but Hank wasn’t going to ignore a lead when one practically dropped into his lap like that.

“I’ll try to think of something too, Con,” he promised. He wanted to reach over to grab Connor’s hand, but decided to leave it at glancing longingly at him for now.

Connor opened his mouth, before closing it and shooting him an indecipherable look. His LED cycled yellow.

 

***

 

Hank allowed himself to dream a little more that night while he lay wide awake and alone in bed. On his back, his eyes trained to the ceiling, he thought about the favorable outcomes Connor could have preconstructed.

The _best_ one had to lead to Connor staying here with Hank, Hank decided. He wouldn’t ask for a cent of rent, Connor would get to play with Sumo every day, they’d get to spend more time together outside of work. Conrad basically lived in a fucking basement, it wasn’t going to be of much help unless Connor wanted to go back to living like some sort of digital vampire in docking station coffins.

He could – he could even clear out Cole’s room for Connor. He’d do that for Connor.

Hank’s breath hitched as he thought of his dead son.

Cole would’ve wanted him to be happy, he snapped back at the prickling guilt.

In the comfortable darkness of his bedroom, his eyes flickered shut as he pictured Connor’s weight dipping the space in the bed next to him. Connor, face flushed and tentative as he would crawl over to Hank, his eyes holding that same admiration they had in their early months working together. Telling Hank how pleased he was, how Conrad would never do such sweet things for him because Conrad had the emotional depth of an office printer and would never understand him the way Hank understood him, how he had wanted this for so _long_ –

And Hank would shudder back and admit the same, before pulling the young man over and showing him what it really means to be alive and human.

Hank groaned loudly into the darkness.

He wanted, how he _wanted_ Connor.

One of his large rough hands slipped below the waistband of his ratty boxers and he remembered to keep his eyes shut as he took care of himself. Imagined that his coarse hand was a smooth young one, imagined Connor panting in surprise, imagined those pretty pink lips parted as Connor fumbled his way through a new human experience.

He pictured Connor shyly opening his mouth wider and slowly going down on him.

He hummed, needy in delight at that image.

Then he would see Connor’s head tilt as he tried to accommodate Hank, then –

He would see that LED on the side of the man’s head spin yellow. See and remember that that mouth had tasted a lot of fucked up shit like the blood of basically every case Hank has handled since last November and –

Hank choked but he had lost himself before the image of him sticking his dick down a throat coated with the blood of murder victims ( _would he find bits of rotting flesh down there?)_ could hurl him back away from the edge of his orgasm. The wet warmth on his belly was quickly drying out into uncomfortable flakes in the cold air.

Breathing heavily, Hank forced his eyes open again, his mind racing a million miles, his brow furrowed.

 

***

 

He found himself outside the door of Connor’s apartment the next night. He had little rest the previous night, but Hank was used to working long nights so he still managed to push some semblance of a moving-in proposal to show Connor.

Holding his breath, Hank knocked sharply against the door.

“Coming!” he heard that gentle voice call from inside. There was a shifting of some objects from deeper inside the apartment before he heard Connor’s footsteps pad quickly towards the door.

“Hank?” Connor said, surprise coloring his voice as he opened the door, “What brings you here at this time?”

“I – uh – could I come in to talk?” Hank winced, feeling his heart rate pick up.

“Of course,” Connor smiled, stepping aside to let him in. Hank noticed a few new large cardboard boxes by Connor’s bedroom which he was pretty sure weren’t there the last time he was over a couple months ago.

“Bought some new stuff? Or packing to shift out?” he gestured, “Need any help?”

Connor blushed.

“Oh – just some new things. I should be done unpacking by tonight, no worries, Hank. Could I get you a drink?”

“Oh – oh no,” Hank replied, though his throat was very dry, “I just came to talk about your landlord issue.”

He settled himself nervously on Connor’s modern-looking couch. Connor had a look of intrigue on his face as he sat next to Hank. They were almost as close as Conrad and Connor usually sat at work, and the thought made Hank’s head spin a little. He could count the freckles splattered prettily across Connor’s nose.

“I – I was thinking you could move in with me, I won’t charge you a cent, Connor,” the words tumbled out of his mouth, completely unlike the smooth detailed proposal he had planned out earlier in the afternoon. He saw Connor’s LED immediately circle several times.

“I…”

Connor’s mouth was drawn into a thin line.

Hank couldn’t fucking understand. Wasn’t this extremely preferable towards Connor? Surely the android must’ve already preconstructed it _many_ times, he just had to accept Hank’s –

“I am very grateful for your offer, Hank, but I am afraid that I will be rejecting it.”

“Wh-what?!” Hank gaped ungracefully, “I – I, but your landlord – “

“Hank, I found a solution earlier today,” Connor’s lips twitched upwards but never reached a full smile, “But thank you so much for your kind offer.”

“Did you settle the cost with the landlord? But with me, you don’t have to pay – “

“No, not exactly, I am still paying the new increased price, but – “

Running a hand through his hair, Hank frowned at the android in front of him who now appeared to be avoiding his gaze. He held his breath, hoping the silence would push Connor to continue, to explain himself, to reason why he would reject the most rational option.

He heard Connor breathe in deeply before those deep brown eyes flickered back to lock on to his.

“Conrad offered to move in. He…I guess you could say, negotiated a little with the landlord? Basically, we pay the doubled rent rate together, but because there’s going to be two of us in the apartment now, I suppose you could say it’s still somewhat of a discount?”

_Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

Hank felt his heart lurch impossibly hard. He stood up immediately, trying to clear his dizzying head. Turning away from Connor, he hugged his coat tightly to his body, his hands balling into fists in the ratty material.

“I – I – Connor,” he gasped, blinking his eyes rapidly to clear his vision. Were those fucking _tears_ growing in his eyes?

“You’re trying to say – you’re, Conrad and you are – “, he tried again before trailing off, his voice cracking and falling apart at the edges.

He felt Connor’s hand press against his shoulder, and it felt like a rusty knife stabbing harshly into his flesh.

“If you are trying to ask if Conrad and I are together,” Connor said, and he could hear the carefulness in his voice, but Hank wasn’t sure who Connor really was trying to be careful for now, “Yes, I suppose we are. We are working things out. I apologize that this may seem a little inappropriate given our workplace. But rest assured, we will – “

“This ain’t about fucking your coworkers, dammit!” Hank snapped, pushing Connor’s hand off him without a thought and regretting it almost immediately after. Connor held his rejected hand with his other, a frown appearing on his face as well.

“Then what is this _really_ about, Hank? I’m sure you have more to say than to tell me I can live with you as my non-charging landlord,” Connor replied, tilting his face up towards Hank, a challenge modulating in his voice. The dam inside Hank, once so steadfast in holding up his denial of his feelings – of any feelings towards anything after Cole died – crumbled steadily.

“I just – fuck, I have, oh jeez, prepare yourself for this shocker – _feelings_ for you, alright, Connor? That work for you? Just a washed-up alcoholic loser who fell in love with his unattainable work partner, a pathetic coward who couldn’t admit it – “

“You are _not_ a loser, Hank. Do not say such unkind words about yourself,” Connor said, defiantly stepping up towards Hank. Hank wanted him to move back, maintain some distance, because he couldn’t fucking think when his stupid pretty face was all shoved up in front of him like that.

“Yeah, well, you aren’t going to give me a chance now, are you, Connor? You wouldn’t ever have given me a chance in a million years,” Hank pressed on recklessly, self-hate drily pumping adrenaline through his veins, “Whether Conrad was here or not. I never stood a chance.”

“I – “

There was a glimmer of what appeared to be tears in Connor’s eyes.

“I would’ve. Some time back,” his voice was thick.

Hank felt even worse.

“And then you came to your senses and realized what a waste of space someone like me is,” he shut his eyes, filling in for Connor.

“No! Stop saying those things about yourself!”

Caught off-guard, he felt a shove against his shoulders and opened his eyes again to see Connor’s tear-streaked face.

“I was so enamored, Hank,” Connor whispered, almost shamefully, “I never once thought that you were ugly, or useless, or a loser. I was so enamored with you.”

“Then what changed?” Hank pleaded, his voice hoarse, “Tell me.”

“ _We don’t bleed the same_ ,” Connor recited that stupid disgusting sticker Hank knew he had long torn off his desk, “You – you were right all along. From the time you first saw me. I realized you were right. We aren’t really the same. We – “

“I’ve _changed_!” Hank replied desperately, his voice breaking again as he reached out to grasp one of Connor’s hands, cradling it in his much larger hand, “I don’t believe that bullshit anymore, I’ve learned so much – “

Connor seemed to look down at their linked hands with bitterness.

“We may be equal in some ways,” Connor explained, “But in other ways, we are just fundamentally different. Even for basic tasks like evidence collection, I see my unhuman ways still frighten you. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg, Hank – I don’t think you can ever really fully accept me – not unless I emulate a perfect human forever, and we both know that’s not possible.”

“I can _try_ ,” Hank begged, “Relationships are all about compromise, Connor, and I can try. _We_ can try.”

He squeezed Connor’s hand. Connor looked up at him, his eyes almost beseeching him to let him go.

“Just as you will never fully comprehend what it is to be an android and how we work, I may – I will never fully comprehend humans, Hank. We will not be satisfactory long-term partners for each other. We are,” Connor bit his lip, as if it pained him to continue, “We are literally considered different _species_ , different kinds of lifeforms, Hank.”

“Connor, _fuck_!” Hank cried out angrily as Connor withdrew his hand from his grasp. He couldn’t understand, he couldn’t see why Connor was being so obtuse – he _knew_ they could make it work, sure, it might be a bit messy at the start but what relationship wasn’t? Connor just had to give them a chance –

“I see that you still do not understand me and what I am saying, Hank,” Connor said, sitting back down on the couch. His face was slowly schooling back to that impassive look Hank knew Connor liked to fall back on when he was stressed.

“Yeah, I – just give us a chance, Con – “

“Please, take some time to consider what I have said,” Connor mumbled, looking down at the floor, “I have given it so much thought, Hank – so much. So many preconstructions, so many simulations. It really would be for the best if we stayed as friends. There is – there is almost no possibility of us, otherwise.”

Hank knew that if there was any considering to do about this tonight, he would be doing it at the bar today. He stood quietly, feeling alone in his shame and confusion, allowing the emotions to wash over his cold frame.

“No – no, _you_ need to reconsider,” Hank muttered back, lost and feeling as if he was saying it to nobody in particular as he pelted brokenly out of Connor’s apartment.

 

***

 

“So, in the end, that man – he just uses _statistics_ on me again,” Hank raved angrily to a stranger perched silently next to him at Jimmy’s bar, slamming his drink down onto the table.

The stranger snorted and wrinkled his nose thoughtfully.

“That man sounds like a pain.”

“Oh, no, _no_ ,” Hank slurred, rubbing his eyes, “He’s really sweet, he just – has a habit of falling back on statistics sometimes. Loves to think in ones and zeros.”

“Well, unless he’s a math professor, I don’t think he sounds much like a functioning human, pal,” the stranger offered companionably, patting Hank on his back, “I gotta go, have the next one on me.” The man slid some crusty bills under Hank’s hand before swinging his coat over his shoulders and walking off into the Detroit rain.

Something in his words stung a little but Hank couldn’t pinpoint what exactly through his alcohol-fueled stupor. He waved his hand to get another beer, before sliding his eyes shut and drinking himself to dawn.

 

***

 

Hank’s head was heavy and he had a searing headache when he stumbled into the cab back home. Sumo looked up warily from his empty food bowl, barking longingly at Hank as he collapsed through his front door.

“Yeah, yeah – I’m coming, you great mutt – no, don’t give me those eyes, he isn’t coming today – “Hank grumbled as he offhandedly filled Sumo’s bowl. Sumo whined piteously, ignoring the food, his eyes never leaving Hank as he staggered to the bathroom to throw up.

Fuck, even his dog knew that he was a mess now.

 

***

 

It was dusk again when Hank left his room to find himself face-to-face with a bright but empty fridge. He groaned, shutting the clammy refrigerator door. He slid into his coat and stomped out into the chilly evening.

Numbly, he strode down some streets before turning into a new place he hadn’t tried before. His eyes were clouded as they stared off into the distance, his hands fumbling clumsily with his change as he distantly made small-talk with the android staff taking his order. The press of a warm packet of food into his hands shook him out of his stupor, and he shook his head in slight embarrassment at the android’s curious look.

“Thanks, kid,” he mumbled, quickly leaving the store.

Trying to re-orient himself to get the directions back home, Hank realized with a dull pang that he had walked himself to the street just across Connor’s apartment. A few couples, too early for Valentines’ but without a care for the fact, were milling around the area, the partners taking photographs of each other and exchanging kisses and roses. He noticed that they were all young, rather attractive people and his heart swelled with tender jealousy as he pictured Conrad and Connor in their place.

His hands were still shaking even as he stood in the synthetic warmth of the lift up to Connor’s unit.

 

***

 

To his relief, he caught a glimpse of light from the sliver under Connor’s apartment door as he walked over. The man was in – maybe if Connor was up to it, Hank could chuck his take-out into the bin and bring him out for a dinner, talk things through with him again –

His hand froze just centimeters from the polished wood of the door.

There were sounds – he thought, squinting as he tilted his head carefully towards the apartment – coming from inside. An audible thump, like a body being thrown against the couch, confirmed his suspicions. He drew back immediately, holding his breath. Connor wasn’t alone.

Then, a clear flat voice that Hank would never have missed anywhere.

“Do you trust me, Connor?”

There was a muffled reply in response and some rustling. Biting his lip and his breath shuddering, Hank quietly pressed himself against the door. He was scared, he was so scared that Connor was in trouble, but he couldn’t forget that day back in the breakroom and what that might mean for now –

“One minute to shut-down.”

The female system status voice, even more monotone and synthetic than Conrad’s. Hank’s eyes widened in fear, a hand moving down to grasp the doorknob.

“Connor…” he barely heard Conrad’s metallic hiss over an unflattering squelch of what sounded like a vat of thick liquid. There was another soft response he couldn’t quite catch, and he heard Conrad sigh in the most human tone he had ever heard it vocalize.

“Thirty seconds to shut-down.”

There was more clanging coming from the apartment. Intermittent buzzes of crackling cut through the clangs and rustling, and he heard Conrad keen Connor’s name again. Hank’s hand was white in its grip on the doorknob.

“Ten seconds to shut-down.”

And then there it was, a loud static wail that was barely human anymore but which Hank could still recognize instantly as Connor’s. Adrenaline coursing through him, he slammed himself bodily against the door, hand banging fervently against it as his other worked to twist feverishly against the doorknob.

“Open up! Detroit police – “

There was a slide, a hiss, and a clack of something, followed by Connor’s unrhythmic coughing and gagging. Panicked, Hank backed away from the door and squared his shoulders, preparing himself to barrel it down.

It flung wide open just as he began his sprint, and he collided into what felt like a particularly thick and unyielding lamp post. Collapsing ungainly onto the floor, he saw blood drip onto his worn pants, and registered dimly that he had broken his nose on Conrad’s fucking titanium chassis.

The android watched him impassively as he clambered back onto his feet. The collision, Hank thought drearily, hadn’t even phased it a bit, even though he was a pretty big guy himself.

“May I be of assistance, Lieutenant?” it queried, and Hank wasn’t sure if that was a _smile_ playing across its lips. Steeling his face, Hank shot it a glare which abruptly slid off his face when he suddenly became aware of the fact that Conrad wasn’t wearing a shirt.

_What the fuck?_

Its shirtless state showcased the fact that Conrad was built to _kill_. It was broad, muscular and indecently strong where Hank was sure Connor was lean and wiry. There was thirium splattered obscenely across its abdomen, quickly disappearing from the human eye now in the exposed cold air. There were even larger splotches of the blue liquid on its pants, and was that a bulge –

There was bile rising in his throat, but Hank held onto it, smothered it down as he shoved past the smirking android to lurch ungracefully into Connor’s apartment. Connor, Connor, _Connor_!

“H-Hank!”

Connor, sounding as healthy and full as ever. Connor, sprawled unnaturally over a towel-covered couch in his boxers, sliding his thirium pump shamefully back into its compartment, the fingers of his other hand still dipped somewhere in his guts like a guilty boy’s hands in the cookie jar. Connor, whose freckled face was painted in a debauched shade of a blush, one that Hank had pictured many times alone in his bed but which brought nothing but torment to him at this very moment.

“Hank, what are you doing here – I, you didn’t – “

Hank hobbled backwards, crashing into a table behind him. He heard glass shatter – he must’ve knocked over something – but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Connor, who was now working to cover himself up and get up from the couch.

He heard Conrad make to move from the door.

Connor’s LED was cycling a million miles a second.

Hank thought of all the _codes_ and numbers, preconstructions and _probabilities_ of how to diffuse the situation that must be spinning madly in the android’s mind, the social relations _program_ that was probably in overdrive right now, and those thoughts, those thoughts made him _mad_.

Connor opened his mouth to start.

Hank threw out a furious hand to stop him.

He saw Conrad freeze by the door.

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Hank hissed in humiliation, his face burning, blood flowing freely across his lip like a pity badge of how human and weak he was. Connor’s face fell in obvious hurt, and it stung Hank’s heart with regret and hurt. But Conrad, Conrad –

That fucking machine had the fucking nerve to just continue watching him dispassionately – no sympathy, no chagrin, no _anything_ – as he left Connor’s apartment in shame for the second time in two days.

 

***

 

Valentines at the office?

Yeah, right.

But he found himself without a say on that past noon, as he received a call at home from Fowler about the hide-out of some shmuck they’d been tracking for a while who had a liking for exploding androids. He grunted his acknowledgment into the phone, stomping loudly to his car to tune out Fowler’s promise to send Connor and Conrad over as soon as possible as well.

Of fucking course, when Hank pulled up some streets away from the arsonist’s hideout, he had to see Connor unwrapping his arms around Conrad to dismount from the back of its fancy white motorcycle. Hank sat in his car in sullen silence watching them for a while, Knights of the Black Death blaring emptily back into his face. Conrad pressed itself insistently onto Connor, cupping his face and cradling him with a tenderness simulated so well that Hank could almost believe it was capable of actually understanding that feeling.

Almost.

He pulled himself out of his car, spitting on the nearby ground as he slammed the creaky old door behind him.

“You guys ready?” he scowled heavily, his hands clenching into fists deep in the pockets of his coat.

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Connor replied, quickly untangling himself from Conrad. Conrad gave a firm nod, but Hank didn’t miss its hand sliding to the small of Connor’s back possessively. Hank bit his lip and squinted at them as they stared quietly back at him. He realized that their eye blink rates, if one gave enough thought to it, were slightly off from a regular human’s.

_Fuckin’ androids huh, Cyberlife couldn’t get them completely perfect even after so long._

“Are we proceeding, Lieutenant?” Conrad cocked his head, its voice as level as ever. Hank saw Connor shoot it a small glance, before turning his attention back to Hank. He was biting his lower lip, looking nervous, like he wanted to talk through yesterday’s events with Hank. Hank wished Connor would care less about him so it wouldn’t hurt him so much. At the same time, he wondered if it would kill the machine to at least put some processing power into emulating some degree of empathy or guilt toward him. That machine just _had_ to be deciding to be a prick to him, he was sure of it.

 

***

 

“Hank, you wait here,” Connor spoke finally as they rounded about the last street to the hide-out, “I will proceed in with Conrad. We will call you if we need backup.”

“What?!” Hank shot back irritably.

Connor’s eyes widened in surprise at his outburst, “But this – statistically – is the safest option for all three of us – “

“We’re partners, Connor, _I’m_ sticking with _you,_ ” he continued.

“What do you propose then, Lieutenant?” Conrad asked, not a hint of inquisitiveness in its voice.

Hank shot him the most venomous look he could muster. He glared hard at it and thought bitterly of how it was just a heap of modern new tech bundled to disguise as a deceptively good-looking efficient young man, of how blind Connor was to that fact to fall for a walking tank machine.

“I fuckin’ propose,” he snapped, jealousy curling itself around and suffocating his old heart, “Fuckin’ propose you go in there yourself, and _you_ call _us_ if you need back-up.”

“I trust your expertise on the matter,” Conrad nodded, slowly withdrawing its hand from Connor’s back as it prepared itself for entry to the hide-out.

“Wh – no!” Connor gasped, looking as if he were torn between grabbing a hold of Hank and Conrad, “The criminal is highly dangerous, it is best if – “

“Conrad’s efficient enough to take him down on your own, aren’t you, Conrad?” Hank replied snidely, crossing his arms firmly, “No need to risk tipping off the criminal by having two of you in there.”

Connor frowned at him, his mouth agape as his LED spun yellow furiously, trying to process the order. Hank felt some twisted sense of pride at having placed Connor in the seat of confusion he had been for the past few weeks.

“It is alright, Connor,” Conrad said softly, running its unskinned hand up Connor’s gently unskinning arm, making Hank recoil, “I will let you know immediately if I need assistance. I will be safe, and I trust that you will be there when I need you to be.”

Hank observed bitterly as Connor tilted his head up towards Conrad, those brown puppy eyes gazing so lovingly towards it. He saw both their LEDs flicker in tandem. Connor’s eyes twitched in that jerky motion they did whenever he was assaulted with data. Conrad stared serenely back at Connor throughout, its upgraded capabilities clearly shining through.

“Get a fuckin’ move on,” Hank breathed.

The words weighed as inconsequential as the puff of cold fogged breath that followed them.

 

***

 

Barely five minutes later, Hank found himself pelting down a darkening street after Connor.

It had to be a trap. It had to – Hank wanted to yell that fact out to the reckless man sprinting ahead of him ( _Connor had claimed he received the back-up call from Conrad – but why would the call come in so fast?_ ). Hank wanted to scream at him, make him listen for once, but Hank, Hank was now so old and so out-of-shape and so out of breath that he could hardly keep himself from collapsing over his own feet. All he could do as he bowed over halfway by the sidewalk, his human heart thrumming noisily in his chest, was bellow in useless frustration as Connor vaulted inhumanly away and leapt flawlessly into the hide-out.

 

***

 

“Connor? Connor!”

Hank found himself tumbling uselessly through the window that he had seen Connor clamber through, meeting nothing but a dusty and lightless room.

“Fuck, ‘droid, you didn’t come here alone – “

Gasping, Hank picked himself up from the floor ungainly and barreled as fast as he could to the source of the criminal’s voice. It was downstairs, in one of the rooms – he was panting so hard from the physical exertion that his mind was fogging up but he had to get there before –

Pelting down the stairs, Hank heard the distinctive heavy thuds of Conrad’s boots slamming against the creaky floorboards from below, followed by a grating screech as an old door was torn inhumanely from its hinges.

“Con -!”

The building shuddered and Hank fell onto the ground unceremoniously, his bad knee giving way – one of them must have sprung some sort of explosive trap. A loud static-filled wail sounded right after the impact and he heard three precise gunshots go off and the crunch of the bullets tearing through human bone.

He finally reached the ground floor and there he saw the ripped door and the criminal crawling away from the room on his elbows, his kneecaps shot out. His nose was broken in all the wrong angles, like it had been smashed carelessly into a metal wall. Hank shakily took out his pistol and aimed it at the man, calling out as authoritatively as he could, “Detroit police, I advise you to stay still and – “

The man turned to look at him. He wasn’t sure if that was fright or a pleading in his eyes and he never had more time to evaluate because another indecently perfect shot would be fired from the room to pierce through the man’s temple cleanly. The body fell like a limp doll, mouth hanging open lamely and blood pooling from its open wounds.

Forcing the thought of the subsequent android forensic analysis out of his head, Hank sprinted over to the room, hoping for the best – and found himself wrong when he thought that Cole’s death that night was the furthest depth that his self-despair and loathing could sink to.

In the middle of the room, Connor sat, the gun he must have wrestled from the criminal strewn carelessly to the side, sobbing as the LED on his temple pulsed red frantically. His arms were unskinned and bare, hands purposelessly cradling Conrad’s disfigured face. Bits of processors lay strewn around, and what looked vaguely like two of Conrad’s limbs were lying at the other end of the small room. Conrad probably had barely sufficient processing power to retain consciousness and so it lay still and completely unskinned in Connor’s trembling arms. Hank could see black wires ripped and jutting out and sparking forlornly where its chassis used to cover, the thirium pumping weakly through its cables, achieving nothing but dripping out from the shredded ends and staining the floorboards.

Its voice processor completely mangled, Conrad could only emit a low pained click as it tried to bring up its remaining hand to wipe the synthetic tears running down Connor’s face. Hank heard the sickening grinding of its limb components as it struggled to lift its arm – he’s heard those complaining sounds before – when his favorite motorcycle from his youth ran its due course, when the old office printer broke and needed to be replaced, when factory machinery needed to be shut down.

His shoulders slumped as he unconsciously tried to make himself smaller, make himself disappear off the face of the earth. He wanted to say sorry, he wanted to admit he was wrong, find a way to turn back time and stop himself from letting his stupid human jealousy from mutilating Connor’s first romantic experience into this and injuring Conrad so grievously, but all he could do now –

All he could do now was turn away from the two androids, call for emergency service and let the sirens that came lamenting soon after drown him with guilt.

 

***

 

“Explain how you made such a miscalculation, Connor!”

Fowler slammed his hand loudly onto his desk, almost tipping the photo frames on his desk over. Connor stood obediently next to Hank, obviously trying to will himself from shaking and crying as he held his hands behind his back. Hank could feel the apprehensive eyes of all the other officers and that gloating fucker Reed staring into Fowler’s glass-walled office. He chanced a glance behind and threw a discreet middle finger to the smirking Reed.

“I – I made a, I made a mistake, I thought I received the emergency call from Conrad so I – “

“You _thought_?!”

Hank watched guiltily as Connor brought his hands to his side, balled into wobbly fists. His LED was pulsing red intermittently, almost too fast for the human eye to catch.

“I received a signal, which turned out later to be from the criminal – he tricked me, I don’t know how he managed to hack into the communication line – I was just worried about Conrad, Captain, so I – “

“So you disobeyed your Lieutenant – “

“I-!”

Connor shot Hank the most venomous look he had ever seen etched on the young man’s face. Recoiling unconsciously, Hank tore his eyes away from Connor to open his very dry mouth – he had to man up about his mistake, explain to Fowler –

“- threw yourself right into the line of fire, got caught and caused Conrad to – I don’t know what the _fuck_ caused him to miscalculate that too and not realize that there was a booby trap right where he barged into – for God’s sake, aren’t you two the most advanced androids?!” Fowler growled, burying his head into his hands.

Biting his lip, Hank took a deep breath and began, “Actually, I – “

Immediately, Connor threw out an arm and squeezed Hank’s forearm into a vice-like grip. _Hard_. Any harder and Hank was sure he would have broken the bone clean.

“ _Don’t you go further_ ,” Connor mouthed.

Fowler had looked up from his desk and was staring at the pair of them as if they had both sprouted an extra head. Connor turned back to him, looking as if he was going to come up with some excuse when his head suddenly jerked and his eyelids began to flicker. There was a pained look painted across his face.

“Conrad – Conrad, the hospital, I have to go – “

Hank’s eyes widened as he watched Connor throw all sense of professionalism out of the window and instantly take off from Fowler’s office. Promptly, Fowler stood up, yelling, “Connor, get back here – I am _not done with this talk!_ ” – but he was long gone, flying out of the precinct.

“I – I’m gonna, gonna go get that boy, make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid again – “Hank rambled some lame excuse, sticking his hands into his pockets and quickly striding away without a second look. That seemed to appease Fowler – he heard the large man sink back down onto his chair, mumbling something about how being around the RK900 seemed to make Connor stupid.

 _You’re not too far from the truth, Fowler_ , Hank thought emptily to himself.

Hank found it in himself to ignore Reed’s catcalls of broken android boyfriends as he scrambled hastily after Connor, hoping he could get to him before he left. He managed to catch him just before he boarded the automated taxi.

“Connor – Connor, hang on, let me drive you there,” he panted from his sprint, feeling disgusted with himself again. Connor looked blankly down at Hank’s sweaty hand wrapped around his arm before fixing his gaze back on him. Hank felt like he was being judged – but the verdict, he couldn’t fucking tell for the life of him.

“Fine.”

 

***

 

Connor just simply refused to make eye contact with him during the drive. Hank could see from the mirrors that the man was trying his best to keep his tears from misting up his eyes again. He was flipping his quarter around like crazy again and the tinny sound was pissing him off a little, but now was probably the worst time of all to tell him off about it.

In fact, Connor probably had a lot of things he deserved to tell _Hank_ off about.

Hank decided to try.

“Connor, back at Fowler’s office, I could’ve explained that it was me who – “

And he was shot down as quickly.

“You could have _explained_?” Connor’s voice was trembling and mechanical around the edges. It was slightly grating, taking on a similar tone to Conrad’s usual speech.

He heard Connor whip around in his seat to glare at Hank. Hank couldn’t find it himself to turn around to look at him now, and he told himself that it was because he needed to keep his eyes on the fucking road lest he crash himself and Connor into a 16-wheeler.

“Do you even _know_ what would have happened if you recounted exactly what occurred, _Lieutenant_?” Connor asked, and Hank didn’t want to know if that was derision creeping into his voice. Because Hank certainly didn’t think ahead about what telling the truth would have caused. Connor pressed on, almost human in his recklessness now.

“Do you want to reveal to the whole precinct that Conrad and I started an unprofessional relationship that ended up in Conrad – in – and, and that _you caused this_ because you decided to act on your jealousy instead of your proper duties as an officer of the law – “

“He didn’t have to agree with me!” Hank bellowed back without thinking, fingers twisted ugly around the steering wheel. He regretted it immediately – _fuck_ , always starting in square one of blaming an android for his problems instead of facing them, he mentally shrieked at himself.

“He - !” Connor choked. Hank heard his quarter drop onto the floor of the car but Connor didn’t make a single move to even acknowledge that he had realized that.

“He’s only been out on the field for – how long – he’s still learning, of course he would _trust_ you, you’re the Lieutenant!”

 “I couldn’t tell, I mean, he was being snide with me since pretty much day one, rubbing his relationship with you all in my face – “Hank let the words fly out of his mouth now. This was it anyway, he thought, this was the end of their partnership, and then he distantly recalled with a pang of dread about how Connor may have really been right when he said that it was best for them to exist as friends and to not push things beyond that.

From the side of his eye, he could see a great confusion spread over Connor’s face.

And a dark chill ran through Hank and he knew that he had fucked up big time.

He had been so lost in his jealousy that he probably ended up ascribing shit to Conrad when that machine had already basically admitted it didn’t know how to socialize. Those stares it gave Hank when he spoke to Connor – probably nothing more than usual android scanning stuff, watching, learning – he’d seen Connor’s face do that same glaze over last November at the beginning. The weird smile ticks it had in the office speaking to Hank – maybe it wasn’t confident in itself, maybe it didn’t really know how to perform a smile yet – it’d taken Connor awhile to perfect that dumb lopsided grin of his too.

And finally – that smile, that smile when it had opened the door when Hank had so unceremoniously interrupted a robo-makeout session – that stupid android never had to deal with guests before in the police basement, so it probably just learned from some movies or Connor’s advice to always greet guests with a smile so it –

He turned into the refurbished Cyberlife Tower and allowed himself to cry brokenly into the wheel while Connor silently exited out of the car.

 

***

 

When Hank finally made his way into the lobby of the tower, eyes hurting and face burning, he was surprised to see Connor still standing blankly in the middle of the brightly lit room. As he made to approach the other man, Connor turned around slowly, tears flowing freely down his face again. Hank felt his heart sink. Connor’s jaw was trembling, his brow furrowed in fear and confusion and Hank wanted to do nothing more than to hold him in his arms.

“It’s time to say goodbye.”

 

***

 

They were led into an extremely large and sterile looking room on a high floor. As the two of them stepped in, the remaining android staff swiftly left, looking at anywhere but Connor. The door behind them hissed shut, and Hank was doing his best to keep himself steady on his two feet at the sight in front of him.

Conrad’s maimed body lay spread across a ghost-white bed in the center of the room. Its skin projection was still completely off, and large tubes were twisted around its body, bright blue thirium pumping into its biocomponents as fast as the other tubes were extracting the faulty dark blue thirium from them. It looked even more exposed than before – it seemed like the android medical staff had attempted several emergency replacements and repairs that had all been rejected by its model’s components. There was barely enough of it left to suggest that it had once been Connor’s eager steadfast companion – it had been reduced to its most rudimentary state, and Hank – Hank knew he was to blame for all of this.

He kept himself pressed against the door, afraid of this android version of the intensive care unit, frightened to get closer to the mutiliated android for fear of other disconcerting graphic images that he knew would keep him up for innumerable nights, scared of having to face it and Connor in such circumstances.

“Conrad,” he heard Connor whisper tearfully, watched as he fell to his knees next to the other android.

Conrad blinked his good eye in response.

He followed Connor’s eyes to the other android’s throat, where there was emptiness where a voice box should be. Gently, Connor ran an unskinned hand over its stationary face.

There was a minute rustling of the sheet where it lay upon, and Hank observed sickeningly as the android struggled to lift its very faintly pulsing palm towards Connor. Connor’s eyes widened as if with understanding of what it desired.

Hank could only gaze on in shock as Connor slowly began removing his entire skin projection, starting from his face and smoothly running down the rest of his body. He had _never_ seen Connor as a full android before, never seen the pale white chassis so similar to Conrad’s that lay beyond that freckled summer skin, never saw how even Connor’s hair was an extremely clever Kamski-patented projection.

The completely unskinned Connor still had his eyes locked onto Conrad’s as he removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Hank thought he saw a flash of approval in Conrad’s remaining eye, and he observed mindlessly as Connor gripped Conrad’s palm firmly.

There was a sudden bright pulse of light as the palms of the two androids met. Connor’s head was abruptly wrenched back in an inhuman angle, his mouth falling open, his eyelids fluttering faster than Hank had ever seen. His irises were completely wiped clean, there was only white as his head jerked intermittently as if he was being attacked by some sort of strange computer virus. The thirium wires surrounding Conrad were working overtime, sloshing noisily in and out violently, shaking dangerously to the electronic whirr sounding from deep within Connor’s chassis. Conrad’s good eye was now fixed on the bent Connor in an unblinking stare, a shimmering red glow from somewhere inside its head cavity palpitating mechanically.

It was all so macabre, all so bizarre, all so incomprehensible to Hank that all he could do was flee from the room and hope that he would never be subject to such a sight again.

 

 ***

 

A week and a half later, the seat across Hank was finally filled again with a serene-looking Connor. Hank had wondered if he’d decided to forgive him over his time-off and gotten over his little android dalliance. Cyberlife could build another RK900 if they wanted to, right? It wouldn’t be _Conrad_ per se, but that droid wasn’t too far into deviancy for a new one to learn to take its place. Algorithms these days were amazing.

“Lunch?” Hank tentatively proposed. He ignored the sneer Reed shot his way.

“Sure,” Connor chirped. Hank wasn’t expecting the eye contact and so he dropped it himself out of nervousness.

They strode together to the car. Hank’s heart was thrumming a mile in his chest. Could they – were they back to how they were at the start?

He held his breath as Connor settled into the dingy car with him. Slowly, he reached for the radio and turned it on to the usual station. He felt faint as he drove out of the lot towards Chicken Feed, eyes trained more on Connor than on the road.

There was a catchy song on the radio, but Connor wasn’t bouncing along to it. Still, at least he wasn’t doing that weird ramrod back pose thing he did when Conrad was around. He was leaning to the side, head propped up by a hand, his eyes shut contently, the sides of his mouth curled up in a small smile. If Hank hadn’t revisited the RK800 manual so many times after November, he’d have figured Connor had really run out of batteries.

“Enjoyed the song?” he tried as he parked outside Chicken Feed.

He watched as Connor seemed to unwillingly open his eyes. A sigh escaped him.

“I wasn’t really listening, no.”

His eyes were distant and scanning the horizon now, as if looking for a star that was burning light years away.

“What were you doing then?” Hank asked, trying not to sound too curious. Connor was still staring out into the distance.

“Talking to Conrad.”

Hank sputtered.

“I – sorry, I thought he’s dead – “

“Yes. You could say that, I suppose.”

“Then – how are you talking to him?”

Connor turned at last, fixing Hank with a sad, almost pitying gaze.

“The Zen Garden. A last-minute attempt at transferring back at Cyberlife, and luckily, we succeeded. It’s not the same – it’ll never be the same. But in a way now, Conrad will always be with me. Maybe in future I can see if I can obtain a suitable model to return him physically but this – this is more than enough for now.”

The android next to him shuddered as if he were cold, and Hank caught the glimmer of tears bordering his soft brown eyes. Hank saw a spin of the yellow LED, and noticed how Connor broke into a small grin as he shut his eyes again, wiping his tears away quickly.

Hank imagined that it was Conrad whispering comfort to Connor.

He felt terribly cold himself. The seatbelt, still strapped in, was digging too tightly into his belly. He thought of Cole, a human boy made of gentle and mortal flesh, _his_ boy – taken away from him right before his eyes. Conrad had died – in a way – but Connor got to keep, got to save his consciousness still, and would get to talk to him whenever and wherever he wanted to.

For Hank, all he had were crummy pictures of his younger self with his small child, shoved painfully away somewhere behind the books on his shelf. Cole was lost to time and Hank might have tried very hard some days to imagine that the murmurs of a spring breeze were the raucous laughter of his departed child, but it would never be the same.

There was an envy blooming in his chest looking at Connor now, who still had his eyes securely shut, Hank dully noted.

His eyes stung.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea ever since I played the game last year (and what a great game it is it's completely taken over my life) but I forced myself to complete it as a one-shot instead of a multi-chapter since I have a terrible track record of completing stories. I'm really quite unsatisfied with this work but past a point I figured it was better to put it out there than let it fester any longer on my hard drive.
> 
> I have a couple other RK1700 fics in progress and I hope to get out a happier HankCon eventually (all of which I'll probably make myself complete before I post anything so I don't leave anyone hanging again!)


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